The Cellist
by JustSaraNoH
Summary: A series of missing scenes and inserts to include my version of The Cellist into episodes of Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. The prequel to this story is The Paths We Carve.
1. Chapter 1

**NOTES: **

After writing The Paths We Carve, I wasn't quite ready to let go of Anna, who is my version of the Cellist. Thus, I started this series. I'll update after each episode to see if I can carve out a place for Anna with Phil and the team. this, of course, might mean bending things that happen in the show a bit, but I'll try to leave canon as in tact as possible.

Naturally, I start this when the show decides to go on a month-long hiatus. This first scene coincides with the episode T.R.A.C.K.S.

Thanks to **the_wordbutler** for the beta and encouragement.

* * *

It's just after four-thirty in the morning when her phone rings. Anna opens one eye to read Unknown on the caller ID. She's had too many years as a soldier's wife to ignore that. "Hello," she answers, but it comes out gravelly. She clears her throat and repeats the greeting.

"It's me," Phil replies. "Sorry to wake you."

"What's wrong?" she asks while sitting up in bed and turning on the light. Felix, her cat, hisses at her from waking him; she flips him off. "And why aren't you calling me from your regular number?"

There's a slight hesitation before he says, "Please tell me you don't have my actual name in your phone."

She's not awake enough to contain her annoyed sigh. "You're listed under Thomas Fowler. How many times do I have to say I've played this game before until you start believing me?"

"Sorry," he mutters.

They sit in silence for a full twenty seconds before she prods, "You going to tell me what's going on or—"

"Skye was hurt."

She feels her stomach drop and her hair stand on end at his words. "How hurt?"

"It's really bad. We're en route to a medical facility now, and hopefully we can get there soon enough."

Anna'd been around the girl—no, she's not an actual child, but she may as well be in Phil's mind, Anna knows—for all of maybe ten hours. But in that time, it was hard to miss the light in Skye's smile and how well she ties together the individual members of Phil's motley crew. Even though Anna's only known Skye for a little over a week, her heart breaks at the news.

"What do you need from me?" she asks.

That's when he sighs, and Anna's sadness boils into the first few flickers of anger. "The people we're after," Phil answers, "they want to make this personal. They're doing things to get to me."

Her free hand fists in the sheet, and she briefly wonders if she set the security system before bed. Not that it would stop the level of people Phil deals with. "Am I in danger?"

"No," he tells her quickly. "Not at all. At least, I don't think so. There's someone in their organization that can… They know things and I don't know how, but…" He pauses to sigh, and Anna can clearly picture him holed up in his office, shoulders slumped, and face drawn with worry. "If something were to happen to you, it would kill me."

"That's sweet, but still too soon." Silence fills the line again, so she tacks on, "That was supposed to be a joke. Well, not the too soon part, but you know—joke."

"Yeah," he whispers.

Her foot starts to bounce against the mattress as she tries to fight of nerves of impending doom. "Phil, you have to use your words. I can't read minds."

He sighs before telling her, "I think it might be best if I stay away for a bit—no contact, no visits, nothing."

"But I just got you back." Anna wants to kick herself for not only saying the words but for sounding like a sixteen-year-old when she does. She hasn't had a high school sweetheart in twenty years; she should know better.

"I know," he replies, and she can at least take comfort in the fact that he sounds broken, too. "But I can't let anything happen to you. It's just until we take care of—"

"Please," Anna huffs, and what little control she has over her temper snaps. "I know these things don't get taken care of quickly or cleanly. This could take a while—years, even. And for that whole time we're supposed to, what, forget we said we'd try this again?" She sighs and runs a hand over her face.

"Please," he asks quietly. "Please don't give up on me."

"You know you can only say that so many times and before it stops working."

The line is quiet again before he says, "Give me two weeks."

"One," Anna argues. "One week or I'm done."

"Okay," he agrees. "I should probably get off of here."

"Phil, you'll call me if something happens to her, won't you?"

"Of course," he promises. "I'm sorry. I hate having to do this, but I can't handle one more thing to worry about right now."

"Yeah," she says for lack of a better response.

"Call me if at all you think someone might be after you." There's a break before he asks, "You still have your gun?"

"Yes," she answers reluctantly, the knot in her stomach only increasing in size. "Do I really need to start carrying it?"

"It would make me feel better about things. When was the last time you went to the range?"

"A few days ago. We have a Czech conductor in town, and you know how I feel about Czech conductors." The line falls silent again. "Another joke, Phil. You're supposed to laugh; that's what normal people do."

"Sorry," he apologizes again, and there's so much exhaustion in his voice that she wonders how he's not drowning in it. "I really need to go check in on the team. I'll call you when I can." She can hear him take in a breath before he softly says, "I love you."

Her eyes fall shut at that. This is the kind of thing she's exhausted with—I can't talk to you but I still love you. I can't come and see you but I still need you around.

But then Anna remembers the brokenness and desperation in his face.

"Love you, too," she says and three seconds later the line goes dead.

She scoots back into bed and largely ignores when Felix tries to snuggle up against her thigh. After an hour of tossing and turning, she gets out of bed with a string of curses, slaps the practice mute onto her cello, and decides that five-thirty in the morning is as good a time as any to rehearse Dvorak.


	2. Chapter 2

**NOTES: **This is a follow up to the episode "T.A.H.I.T.I.", so spoilers for that episode apply.

Thanks to **the_wordbutler** for the beta and approval.

* * *

The knock on Anna's door comes just after ten in the morning. It's a Sunday, and she has to be at the concert hall in two hours. Since she isn't expecting anyone, she reluctantly takes her gun with her when she answers the door, because that's what Phil said to do, and she trusts him on issues of security. What she isn't expecting is to see Phil himself through the peephole.

She jerks the door open with her free hand and, for a split second, catches a look of utter loss on Phil's face before it's immediately covered by what she refers to as his work mask. His eyes flicker down to the gun half-hidden by the door, and his eyebrows go up. "I hope that's not for me."

Anna's stomach clenches at the tightness in his voice and the emotion he can't quite cover up in his eyes. Immediately, since he said he wouldn't be in touch for a week to figure get help for Skye and to figure things out and that was only thirty hours ago, she assumes the worst. Opening her mouth to apologize, she catches a flash of brown hair just over Phil's shoulder.

Skye is pale, but upright thanks to the help of Simmons. Behind them Fitz silently tuts and fidgets while Ward's gaze shifts all around, including at Anna's gun.

She clicks the safety into place and raises her hands in the traditional I surrender pose before half-tossing the firearm onto the table in the entryway. "Get her in here," she orders, and the group quickly makes their entrance into her home.

"I can walk by myself," Skye mutters as she passes.

Phil grabs Anna's arm and gently pulls her into the kitchen. "Mind giving up your guest bedroom for a little while?"

"Define 'a little while,' and more importantly, what's the girl who you weren't sure was going to live doing walking around?"

He sighs and then rolls his lips while hunting for words. "I found a way to help her, like I was helped." That doesn't sit well with Anna, and it must be evident on her face because he does that sharp exhale thing when he's annoyed. "I've heard nothing in the last day-and-a-half but how I shouldn't push limits and whether or not it's the right thing to do, but it's done."

"How?" Anna asks. "Should she even be here? Shouldn't she be in a hospital?"

"Jemma's run enough tests on her in the last eight hours to confirm she's healthy enough to not be in a hospital bed. She's not nearly up to full speed, but she'll be fine here," he replies.

Anna crosses her arms. "You still didn't answer the how."

His gaze falls to his always-polished shoes. "I can't," he tells her quietly.

"Can't or won't?"

His eyes rise to meet hers and again she sees fear in them. A deeper version than when he sought her out to let her know he was alive. "Please just trust me on this."

She wants to argue that the only reason she agreed to try this again is because he said he was done with secrets, but the look in his eyes scares her into swallowing her complaint. "How long?"

"That's Jemma's call."

"Is this safe?" Anna asks. "The last time we talked, you said they were making things personal. Are they tracking me? Will they track her? Will they track her here?"

"I don't think so," he answers, causing her to snort. He closes the distance between them to rest a hand on her hip. "In my mind, this is the safest place for her. If you want I can task a couple of agents—"

"No," she says as she shakes her head. "I'm paranoid enough as it is; I don't need to be constantly looking over my shoulder to see if someone is tailing me, even if it's for my own protection."

There's a knock at the door and she automatically tenses. Phil's thumb sweeps along her stomach, and he gives a small smile. "May. She had to stay behind and lock down the plane."

By the time they make it out to the living room, Ward's already let May into the apartment. She and Anna exchange nods before they both turn their attention to the young woman sitting on the end of the couch. Said young woman doesn't miss all the eyes on her gives them all a disapproving look. "I'm not dying anymore. Enough with the pity looks."

The corner of Phil's mouth pulls up in the barest of smiles. "Jemma, make a list of what she can eat. Ward, get foodstuffs that will fit the bill. Fitz, check in on Anna's security system and make sure it's up to date. May—"

"Kitchen," Anna mutters as it's her turn to drag someone off for a private conversation. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Phil shrugs. "Taking care of a member of—"

"Am I your girlfriend or your safehouse manager?"

"Actually, it's called—"

"Phil," she grinds out. His chin rises at the interruption and she watches his jaw tighten just a bit. "What's eating you?"

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not," Anna tells him. "You're treating me like one of your agents—you're not fine." She reaches out to take his hand, but he steps past her and back out to the living room.

She spends the next ninety minutes watching them all buzz around like they own the place. She tries to swallow her anxiety about it all, but instead ends up leaving thirty minutes early for work. After half-assing her way through an afternoon concert, Anna walks back home and fights the temptation to take the super scenic path.

When she returns, May and Ward are gone to prepare for departure. Phil stands with his back against a wall to watch Fitz, Skye, and Simmons chat on the couch. He tries to smile at her when she walks in, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "We're going to head out," he announces as he pushes himself away from the wall.

"You could stay," she offers, but he shakes his head.

"My boss is probably going to want to chat with me about the last couple of days."

"Probably? You don't know for sure?" His head tilts to the side as he purses his lips, and she can't suppress the urge to roll her eyes. "Go," she sighs.

"I'll call," he promises as he leans in to kiss the corner of her mouth. He steps around her and gives the order to his two scientists that it's time to go.

"Actually, sir," Jemma stammers, "I think it would be best if I stayed here." Both men's eyebrows rise at the declaration. "Just in case something happens, I believe it would be better if I were nearby instead of leaving Anna responsible for Skye's medical care. I mean, we wouldn't want her to end up in the hospital, and then have to try and explain why she has an unknown drug in her system—"

"Because you're so good at lying, it wouldn't be an issue if you had to do it," Fitz murmurs.

Phil waves them both quiet before looking at Anna. "You okay with this?"

She bites back a sarcastic comment about not having a choice and nods. "As long as Jemma doesn't mind sleeping on the couch; I don't have a third bed."

"Jemma doesn't need a bed," Fitz tells them. "She barely sleeps. Pretty sure she rejuvenates herself by reading journal articles."

"That's mostly true," the biochemist agrees.

Phil gives a small shrug. "Okay, then. Let me know when you're ready to be picked up." And with that, he and Fitz are gone.

Anna locks the door behind them and turns back to the two on the couch. "So what's the plan?"

"I think I need to go back to bed," Skye admits. She shakes her head as Jemma opens her mouth to inevitable start a series of question. "I'm exhausted."

"You need help getting settled?" Anna asks.

Skye shakes her head, but Jemma stands and offers a hand to help her up anyway. The scientist helps her friend up from the couch with a touch so gentle that Anna feels like it's an invasion of privacy just watching. The pair slowly makes their way to the guest bedroom, and once the door is shut behind them, Anna takes a deep breath.

When she looks down at her hands, she realizes they've finally given into shaking. She's shocked they held out this long. Contemplating the prescription bottle of anti-anxiety medication in her kitchen cupboard, she instead grabs for a bottle of pinot noir and one of her obscenely large wine glasses. By the time Jemma quietly emerges from the bedroom, Anna's on her second glass. "Want some?" she asks.

The young woman sighs as she sits on the stool in front of the kitchen counter. "I suppose a nightcap wouldn't hurt. Not that I'll need much help falling asleep tonight."

Anna wants to argue that the worry in Jemma's eyes suggests her last statement is a lie, but lets it go. "You okay?"

"It's been a rough few days," she answers without making eye contact.

Anna gnaws on her bottom lip for a second before changing the focus of her question. "What's up with Phil?"

"I'm not sure," Jemma answers before taking another drink. "He shouted at me not to administer the drug that saved Skye, but it was too late. The look on his face…" Her eyes grow big for a second, and her shoulders rise as she pushes away her half-empty glass. "I don't think I should be discussing these things with you. I mean, I know you have a relationship and all, but he's my boss—"

"I understand," Anna says. The air is quiet between them for a few minutes while Anna finishes her glass. "I should find you a blanket and pillow, I guess. Do you need anything else?"

"I may have acted rashly when deciding to stay here, since I don't have anything with me."

Anna crooks her head towards her bedroom. "Come raid my closet. And tomorrow, you can go shopping."


	3. Chapter 3

**NOTES: **Since the show is on hiatus for the next couple of weeks, I'm doing a chapter that takes place before the latest episode of "Yes Men" and one that will take place after. This is the before.

Thanks to **the_wordbutler** for the beta.

Song referenced in the story is "Rain" by Patty Griffin.

* * *

Anna loses herself in the progression of the chords, finding a counter melody to the song blaring from the sound system. She tries to focus on that and not the lyrics, because those hit too close to home at the moment—which is probably why her fingers not-so-randomly selected the song from her iPod.

She doesn't hear him come in and she immediately regrets giving him a key. When the song finishes, he's sitting a few feet away in the armchair.

"Patty Griffin?" Phil asks. "You must be really pissed with me."

"I'm not the only one," she fires back and she stands to turn off the music and replace her cello and bow on their display stand in the corner. "Jemma was getting annoyed with your lack of information. Ward and May couldn't even tell me where you were when they came to pick up the girls. Not because of something being classified, but because they honestly didn't know."

Phil purses his lips before answering. "I'm taking personal time. It's not their business."

"Apparently nothing is anyone's business, especially mine," she mutters.

His eyes flicker to the bag he brought with him. "If you don't want me to stay here, I can go get a hotel—"

"Good," she interrupts before stalking to the kitchen. Loudly, she bangs around, pulling out a saucepan and ingredients to make dinner. She's had nothing but soup for the last few days since that's all Skye could eat, and she's desperate to sink her teeth into something substantial.

She's also desperate for her boyfriend to stop being a secretive jackass, but lacks a recipe for that particular dish.

"I guess I'll go," he says from the living room.

"Okay," she answers as she drizzles olive oil in the saucepan. She reaches for a knife, cutting board, and a clove of garlic. Before she can start mincing, she hears footsteps approach, and she whirls to face him, taking a small amount of pleasure in the way his eyes bug at the sight of a blade pointing at him. "No," she says before he can open his mouth. "I'm not falling for whatever sob story and pathetic, broken facial expression you're going to make. Not again."

"Falling for it? You think everything I've told you is a lie?" he asks, his voice growing louder and giving into frustration.

She puts down the knife and turns off the burner. "I think you've told me only what you want, even though you swore there wouldn't be secrets between us anymore. And since then, all you've done is ducked out of my sight, refused to answer questions, only talked on your terms, and dropped your team members off at my door like I'm running a hotel."

"You can't know this, Anna. Not this part," he tells her quietly.

She shakes her head. "Then I can't know you. Because whatever this thing is, it's consuming you. And if you won't let me near it, then you won't let me near you." She pauses to consider if the next words should actually be spoken; her gut tells her to go for it. "And if you won't let me in, then what is the point of this?"

"It's not that I can't tell you ever, it's just that I need to find some more answers—"

"Phil, you're never going to find all the answers. Never. You know this. And, besides, I thought you found whatever miracle drug it was that saved you. That's what Jemma said. What could be so awful as to cause you to have more questions about it?" A darkness creases his face for a moment, but she doesn't give in to the compulsion to soothe him.

He sighs before repeating slowly, "I can't tell you—"

"Then you can leave," she says before turning back towards the stove. As she minces her garlic, she watches him out of the corner of her eye as he stands there slightly gobsmacked. She knows exactly what to say to make him actually leave, but doing so might make this the last time she ever sees him. Anna thinks about the way he's left her sleepless with worry, how she's had to fight to keep her hands from shaking at rehearsal the last two days, and how infuriating it is to be stuck in a relationship where you can't talk all over again.

"I was wrong," she tells him quietly. "You aren't the same man you were. And I hate it. I want my Phil back, not this shell he's been replaced with. At least then you'd have the decency to apologize for being a secretive asshole."

"Anna, if you knew what I knew and had gone through what I did, there's no way you'd be the same either."

She shrugged. "Guess I'll never know since you won't say a damn word about it."

"Anna—"

"I said you can leave," she snaps. He stands there for a minute more before she hears him grab his bag and walk out the door. He locks it before walking away, and she absentmindedly wonders if he'll give back the key.

She goes back out into the living room to turn music back on while the garlic simmers, and if she happens to look out the window to watch him get into his beloved car and drive off, she'll just lie and say she was looking to see if it was raining. Because it feels like it should be raining.

Once she's done with dinner, Felix walks around the apartment crying. She puts up with it for ten minutes before snapping at him. "They're gone," she tells him. "The girls left, and they're not coming back." It doesn't stop him whatsoever, so she turns up the volume of her TV, but that only pisses him off more. His cries amp up in volume, and she rolls her eyes. "Get over here." He takes his sweet time walking over the couch and jumping up to curl up against her side. "They left," she repeats. "People like that are always going to leave."


	4. Chapter 4

**NOTES: **Since there's another week of reruns, there will be another chapter after this before we fall back into the missing scene territory for episodes. Hopefully I don't write myself into a hole.

Thanks to **the_wordbutler** for her faithful help.

* * *

Anna hears the chime of an incoming Skype conversation and doesn't bother to look at the caller ID before swiping open the call. "What's going on, Brandon?" she asks without looking up from making notes on her sheet music.

"Who's Brandon?" a female voice asks from the iPad.

Anna looks up sharply from the pages around her to see Skye looking back at her. "My nephew," she answers. "You're not him. And I don't recall giving you my number."

"Technically, it's a username," Skye replies. "And you didn't, but, like finding you is the most challenging thing I'll have to do all week." She bites her bottom lip for a second before speaking again. "I need to ask you a favor."

"What's that?"

"Will you please kiss and make up with your boyfriend so we can have our boss back?"

Anna sighs, and her head falls back against the sofa for a moment. "How bad is he?"

Skye shrugs. "He's not, and that's what's weird. He keeps smiling and acting like everything's fine, but there's no way it is. I know it's not. He's told me so."

"What did he say to you?" The question is out of Anna's mouth before she can stop it. She shakes her head. "Don't tell me that. If he wanted me to know, he would tell me. Or at least, that's what he led me to believe." She pauses to huff a bitter breath. "'You've seen my plane, you've met my team…' Sorry."

Skye gives her a sympathetic smile. "At least one of you is reacting properly."

"Skye," Anna sighs, "it's not going to work. We shouldn't have tried it a second time."

"I think you're wrong." Skye ignores Anna's snort and pushes on. "Look, the latest thing we had deal with? This crazy Asgardian chick—"

"Asgardian?" Anna asks as her stomach turns to ice.

Brown hair waves back and forth as Skye shakes her head. "No, not that Asgardian. No one was stabbed. Well, Ward did some stabbing… with a spear… but it was more of the phallic kind." When Anna doesn't respond, Skye blurts, "Ward banged an alien." The young woman tilts her head to the side and half-squints her eyes. "Actually, you might…"

"Might what?"

Skye blinks and makes a surprised, little face. "Nothing. Just, nothing. You might nothing."

Anna begins to massage her temples as she feels a headache flaring back to life. "Skye, is there something—"

"What I was going to say about this Asgardian chick is that she had this power to make men do her bidding. The only guy around here who didn't fall for it was Coulson."

"Maybe he's smarter than that."

"Maybe no other woman could compare to you."

Anna laughs at that—hard. "I really don't think that's the case."

Skye shrugs like a smug smartass. "You have your ideas, I have mine." Her face softens for a second. "But I really think you two should get back together. Or he could hook up with Sif…"

"Sift?"

"Sif," Skye repeats, emphasizing the final letter. "She's one of Thor's pals. Coulson had a major boner for her."

"Umm, okay," Anna stutters, "I don't think—"

"Look, I really doubt he acted on anything. Although, if you're into threesomes—"

"Skye," Anna warns with a sharp tone. "What do you want?"

"For you guys to be happy," she answers with a soft voice and small shrug.

Anna feels her heart lurch and tries to ignore the pain she's been pushing down since Phil left. "I don't think that's possible, at least not with the two of us together. Maybe not even for us separately."

The awkward pause that follows is ended by Felix waking up from his nap on the guest bedroom bed and following the sound of Skye's voice. He jumps up onto the coffee table where the iPad is propped up and paws at it while mewling at Skye's face.

"It's a screen, Felix," Anna sighs. "It's not really her." But neither the cat nor Skye listen to her. Instead, the young woman holds her finger up in the air and darts it around for Felix to paw at. Anna uses the distraction to try and collect her thoughts. Her mind has been preoccupied with Phil since he walked out of her apartment. She knows there's a handful of e-mails he's sent, but she can't bring herself to read them. He's tried to call twice, but only one of those did she truly ignore; the other came in the middle of a dentist appointment.

She misses him; she's willing to admit that much. Maybe not out loud, but she can at least say it to herself, and isn't that one of those twelve steps or whatever? She nearly opened his e-mails a dozen times, but what for? He's still a secret spy, and she's still tired of that lifestyle.

"Earth to Anna," she hears, and she shakes her head.

"Sorry, what were you saying?"

Skye shoots her an almost infuriating look of sympathy. "You okay?" she asks quietly.

"You've seen my healthy stockpile of booze, anti-depressants, and anti-anxiety meds. Rarely do I get to fall under the category of 'okay.' But you look better. How are you doing?"

"Simmons stopped drawing my blood every five minutes to try and recreate the drug that saved me, so I'm feeling less like a buffet for vampires, or at least one vampire in particular. And she's even letting me try solid foods tomorrow. I know she means well, but she can be kind of a pain in the ass as a doctor."

"She cares for you," Anna points out gently. Skye brushes it off with a shrug, and Anna finds herself biting her tongue. She remembers being in her early-twenties and her mind being a little dense. It's how she wound up with her husband.

Skye looks over her shoulder for a second before turning back to the screen. "Sounds like a meeting time. Want me to tell him you said hi?" Not trusting herself to speak for fear of the wrong, or maybe the right, thing coming out of her mouth, Anna just shakes her head. "Okay," Skye says. "I'll talk to you later."

Before Anna can argue that that's probably not the best idea, Skye disconnects the call. It leaves Anna wondering how she'll not only effectively break things off with Phil, but also his entire little spy family.


	5. Chapter 5

**NOTES: **This is the first of where I just put an insert scene of my choosing into the story. Expect this often over the summer.

And in case you've heard of the casting of Amy Acker for an important role of the show (and even if you haven't), I'm still going to keep true to my idea of Anna. Can't promise that idea won't be influenced by what happens on the show, but here's to hoping the Cellists have a lot in common.

* * *

Anna sits down the table with a sigh. "I'm supposed to be meeting Skye for dinner."

"Jemma was supposed to join me," Phil replies.

"I think we've been parent trapped." When he gives her an odd look, she explains. "Parent Trap? Old movie with Haley Mills, surely you're ancient enough to remember it."

"I'm only forty-nine."

"Still ten-and-a-half years older than me."

The restaurant is one they've always talked about dining at, but never having the chance to go to. It's one of those places where you overpay for ridiculously small portions in one of the fancy hotels downtown; that should've been Anna's first sign that something was up, because even though Skye's diet is still limited, she's heard stories about the young woman's ferocious appetite.

They avoid further conversation by burying their noses in the menu. Their waiter comes for drinks and Phil orders a bottle of red that he knows Anna loves before selecting an appetizer. "Are we going to actually talk about this?" he asked softly. "Are we done? I've sent emails and—"

"I know," she interrupts as she sets down her menu. "I just—"

"You don't want this lifestyle again," he supplies for her.

Anna nods. "But I also know how hard it is to move on from you."

His fingers reach out to brush against hers for a second before they signal for the waiter. He orders a meal for each of them and instructs for everything—wine, appetizer, main courses, and a dessert of the waiter's choice—to be sent to his room. Phil takes Anna's hand and leads her out of the restaurant. "Where are we going?" she asks.

"My room."

"I have an apartment."

"Does it have room service?" he questions with a slightly smug smile.

"Fine, you win."

Anna is expecting to walk into a suite swarming with camera feeds and audio from planted listening devices playing, but instead it's just your typical single room with a king-sized bed. Her apparently lonely brain flashes memories of the times they've put a bed that large to use. Phil's hand resting lightly on the small of her back to help steer her into the room doesn't help matters.

Once they're both inside, Phil pulls out what looks like a pen from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He pulls the cap off of it to reveal a glowing green tip. Sitting the device on the desk, he walks over to make sure the blinds are securely closed over the lone window. "If you want to know the truth," he says as he turns toward her, "I'll tell you."

Her stomach drops and her tongue grows thick. Even though she's been complaining about his secrets, there is so much truth in the phraseignorance is bliss. Anna nods before she realizes she's doing it, and he motions for her to sit on the bed.

Phil points to the not-pen. "It will block anyone from listening in on us."

"Is someone trying to do that?"

"I don't know," he answers after a slight hesitation.

"Am I in danger?" she asks again.

He rolls his lips before responding. "I don't know anymore. The next step we're taking as a team involves going after someone or something known as the Clairvoyant."

"That doesn't sound foreboding at all," she mumbles.

Phil smiles at that. "Whoever it is, they know things. And I know for a fact that they know about you and our relationship. Things that I didn't think anyone outside of this room knew about." That turns her stomach to ice, and she clings to Phil when he reaches out to take her hand in his. "But that's not the secret I want to tell you about. You sure you want to hear about this?"

"Yes," she tells him quietly, because as much as it terrifies her, she needs to know.

"When Skye was shot, we took her to a S.H.I.E.L.D. medical facility where they told us she had hours to live. That was unacceptable to me, so I began digging through the medical file about how I was brought back. Jemma found the name of a drug, and she and Fitz found where it was housed. I led a team to retrieve the medication…" His robotic retelling of the falters, and she squeezes her fingers around his. "I found the drug and got it to Fitz. The people protecting the facility set off a self-destruct sequence. I had little time, but I needed to know where this came from. I followed the tubes to some sort of chamber."

"And?" Anna prods.

Phil shakes his head. "All I know is that it was blue and not human."

Anna's laughter starts out as a giggle before moving into something more. "You're telling me that you were brought back to life by some character out of a James Cameron movie?"

"I'm being serious, Anna."

"So am I. Don't you think whoever—" She pauses to give an ineloquent wave of her hand. "—thought you'd do exactly that? Maybe they set something up like this. Maybe it's a sick joke or a distraction by this Clairvoyant person."

"Two men died in the explosion."

"And we both know men have died for less."

He rises from the bed and begins to pace with a sigh. Before he can say anything else, there's a knock and a voice announces room service. Anna watches Phil go through a series of checks before he waves her out of sight; a moment later, the room smells like culinary heaven. They eat and drink on the bed, the only sound in the room is an episode of Jeopardy. Between bites, one of them might call out an answer, but for the most part it stays quiet.

Once the plates are empty, they find themselves sitting next to each other, backs resting against the headboard. "So, are you part alien now or something?" Anna asks.

"Maybe, I don't know." He sighs and runs a hand over his face. "I'm really sick of only having those three words as an answer."

"You're not, I don't know, growing scales or turning colors or anything."

"No," he says with a soft smile. "Still me, at least physically."

Anna feels a sharp stab to the gut for his words, and her own, on this matter. "Phil, I—"

"If you're done, can we just be done? Because this limbo thing is killing me."

"I don't want to be done," she tells him. "Besides, now that you've brought your wayward spy children into the picture, it would be even more difficult to have a clean break." His face hardens in doubt at her words, and she reaches over to take his hand once more. "If you're willing to let me in, I'm willing to stay. But that's how it has to be."

He nods. "Okay. I'll do my best, but I also want to keep you safe. There may be some things—"

"I understand that, and I appreciate it." She stares at the calluses on the fingertips of her left hand a moment before asking, "You're sure there's not anything weird or whatever with you?"

"Not anymore than usual," he answers with a hint of a dopey grin. Anna rolls her eyes at that. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, as I see it, there are two options for us at the moment. The first, being cheeseburgers because while that dinner was delicious, it didn't put a dent in my hunger."

"And the second?"

She shrugged. "Good luck on your mission sex? Make up sex? Hotel room sex? We haven't slept together since before you died and I miss it and you sex? I mean, Phil, king size bed. Take advantage of the surroundings and the lonely, horny woman throwing herself at you."

"That's a lot of variations of sex." Though his tone is typical of his dry sense of humor, she doesn't miss the way his pupils have blown, making his eyes turn nearly black. "And as you like to remind me, I'm much older than you."

Anna smiles back at him. "So pick one and we'll save the rest for later."

"Cheeseburgers after?"

"Dear god, yes."


	6. Chapter 6

**NOTES: **This was really difficult to write after seeing Cap 2 last night and not trying to work in certain developments. Looking forward to where things go with the show from here on out.

Thanks, as always, to **the_wordbutler** for the beta.

* * *

Anna's phone rings as she walks home from rehearsal. "Could it be?" she asks as she answers the call. "My fictionally named boyfriend is on my caller ID?"

"You're hilarious," Phil replies.

"I really am. So you made Skye an agent?"

"You know about that?"

Anna rolls her eyes, even if he can't see her do it. "Phil, she texted me a carefully cropped picture of her holding her badge with a series of smiley faces—not all of them that I understood—ten minutes after you knighted her or whatever."

"She needs to do a better job at keeping things quiet."

"Please, we both know if anyone is going to squeal like a pig on your team, it's Jemma. There's kind of no hope for that girl." He doesn't joke back with her, but instead sighs. "You sound tired."

"I think we got him," Phil says quietly.

"Him him?"

"Yeah," he breathes.

"Are you going to use him to expose others? Are there others? Do I still have to carry my gun with me?"

"No, I don't know, and it's up to you. He was killed during the capture."

She hears the off tone in his voice and she can't help but to pry. "Sounds like you didn't agree with that call."

"There wasn't a call that was made," he confesses. "Ward just shot him in the chest."

"Doesn't seem like that would be something he'd do without orders."

Phil's quiet for a second before admitting, "The guy was making threats about Skye."

"I'm surprised you didn't do the shooting, then."

"The thought crossed my mind, but I wasn't going to compromise things. We were ordered to capture, not kill."

She wants to mock his Boy Scout sensibilities but bites her tongue. "I thought you'd sound happier."

"I don't know," he sighs. "It feels off somehow. Like it was all too easy, too neat." She stays quiet and lets him talk his way through his thoughts. "I keep thinking about what you said when I told you about what I found—how it could've been set up. Some tailor-made distraction to push me away from the truth."

"Do you think that's what the big blue guy was?"

"No," Phil answers. "But this might be." The line goes silent for a second more. Anna tries to think of something to say, but all the words sound trite. "I think I should go," he tells her. "We're on our way to somewhere, I've got extra agents everywhere on the plane, but I just wanted to let you know."

"Is Grant going to be okay?"

"That's not my call."

She wants to ask if he'll stick up for the agent, but remembers there are two very distinct sides to the man she loves. While Phil probably would, she is less sure about Agent Coulson. But thankfully, she's not dating that version of him.

Yes, she technically knows she is, but denial is a lovely thing, so she lets it slide.

"Talk to me when you can," she says before he ends the call.

When she walks into the apartment, Felix whines to share his sadness in her interrupting his alone time. She ignores the cat and moves to the bedroom. Promising herself that she'll only lay down for twenty minutes before getting dinner started, she curls up in bed.

She hasn't slept well lately, but can't put her finger on a distinct reason why. There are dark dreams at the edges of her memory when she wakes, which is not something entirely new. She has her series of recurring dreams: David dying in front of her, going to his grave and finding out he had another wife, the car accident that killed her mother when she was five, and any number of vague shadows that haunt her. But this one feels different and new.

When she falls asleep this time, she sees what her new nightmare is. The room is dark and she can hear someone breathing. Yellow eyes glow in the dark to stare her down. She's frozen in fear, too scared to even blink. The thing comes out of the shadows slowly and stalks towards her. Once it leaves the corner of the room, there's barely enough light present for her to make out gray, slick skin. It is inhuman and terrifying, but her fear only ramps up when she realizes that the alien has Phil's face.

Anna sits up in bed with a jolt, which sends Felix out of the room in terror. It takes a minute for her breathing to calm down. She thinks about how she originally laughed at the notion of Phil having some kind of alien whatever in him. But now, she realizes part of her didn't find it so funny.

She grabs her phone and calls him back, but it goes straight to voicemail. She doesn't bother leaving a message; she knows he'll passive aggressively gripe at her later for that. Curling in on herself, she thinks back to when she spent four days in the fetal position sobbing as she tried to process his death. Part of her feels like he's died all over again with the reveal of the news, like he's been stabbed—

Her brain breaks off at that thought as she realizes she's never seen his scar, and that she doesn't even know if he has one. Did the alien magic wipe that away, too? Does his scar hurt? She reasons he must still have one since even when they slept together at his hotel, he never took his shirt off. Anna'd chalked it up to male brain in sex mode and him not wanting to waste any more time to get down to business.

Anna's imagination immediately takes off with what the scar could look like and how it's marred his freckled skin. She knows there can be pain associated with scar tissue and wonders if it plagues him. Her hand moves of its own volition and she stops her fingers seconds before they redial his number. If he sees two missed calls from her within five minutes, he'll think the end of the world is coming. She knows he's busy with work and the possible actual end of the world and doesn't want to interfere. But it doesn't make lying in bed spinning horrific thought after horrific thought any easier.


	7. Chapter 7

**NOTES: **I've reached a number of followers divisible by 50 on my tumblr (username: saranoh), and that can only mean one thing-I'm accepting drabble prompts until 5pm EST tomorrow if you're interested.

* * *

David'd called it her gut, her father'd said she had some weird ESP thing, and her preacher of a brother-in-law describes it as the gift of discernment. Whatever the thing is, it's Anna's super power. It always lets her know two things: when she's being lied to, and when some serious shit is about to go down. As soon as Phil ended the call before her nap, it'd kicked into high gear. She tries to chalk it up to the disturbing dream she had of her boyfriend becoming an alien, but it doesn't go away. Anna tries to call Phil back before she goes to bed that night. He'd called that afternoon to discuss Ward shooting a man who could possibly have been the Clairvoyant, she'd had her nightmare, and then she'd made the mistake of watching back-to-back episodes of a murder mystery show. By the time she crawls back between the sheets, she's uneasy about everything and just wants to hear Phil's voice. Even if he's only going to talk about droll things like the weather wherever they are or how many unpronounceable ingredients are in the frozen meal he was rationed. But he doesn't answer. She's good this time and leaves a voicemail. "Just wanted to say hi. I watched the murderer TV show in the dark again, and we both know how that turns out. Still sorry about the time you came home and I nearly took you out with a frying pan." She pauses for a second to debate whether or not she should ramble or just end the call. She elects the latter. "Hope your day got better, or at least less confusing. Love you."

* * *

Felix wakes her in the middle of the night to knead at her stomach until it's desirable enough for him to sleep on. She refrains from cursing at him when her brain suggests she check her phone. The only alerts she has are coupons for the boutique down the street and the email forwards her former father-in-law sends like clockwork every night. She deletes all the messages without reading them. Her thumbs open her new text message app on their own accord. Skye coded it, and it's supposed to allow private, untraceable messages to be exchanged between her and the team. It's not until it's open that Anna realizes she hasn't heard from anyone in the last twelve hours. Skye and Jemma have been regularly texting her about randomness over the last week. She tries to roll over and convince herself it's nothing. All she gets for it is a pissed off cat.

* * *

Anna wakes at six, two hours before her alarm goes off. She knows she had bad dreams, but can't place what exactly they were. And if they were recurrences of Phil as an alien, she doesn't want to remember them. Again, her phone is message-free save for next month's symphony schedule. Realizing that she has no hope in getting any more sleep, she gets out of bed and showers. Taking advantage of her extra time before rehearsal, she walks to her favorite coffee shop. It has the added benefit of being an hour away by foot, and she uses the time to make up details about the people she passes on the sidewalk. The coffee only adds to her anxiety, not that she was really expecting any other outcome. Giving in, she sends a short text to Phil: _I'm officially nagging now. Nag._ He doesn't respond.

* * *

They're halfway through rehearsal when one of the trumpet players lets out a gasp. The annoyed conductor asks what's the matter, and the musician—Kyle—sheepishly owns up to having Google alerts set up for all the Avengers. "It looks like Captain America is being arrested." There are a handful of gasps, and Anna's blood runs cold. She's one of seven people in the room who was in New York when the Chitauri attacked, but everyone has a bit of hero worship for the team of people who saved the city from aliens. The conductor sees that he's not going to get attention back on the Bach piece any time soon, so he gives them a fifteen minute break. Anna gets up and heads backstage. Digging her phone out of her purse, she logs on to the first news site she can find and goes eerily still when she sees the picture of Captain Rogers, the man she's heard Phil tell endless stories about. Shakily, her fingers back out to the main menu and she calls Phil's number once again. It goes to voicemail. "I need you to tell me you're okay. I need you to call or text or send smoke signals or something. Just one word to let me know you're alive, Phil, please." She pauses to look around to make sure no one is around her. "The internet has pictures of Captain America on his knees with a rifle pointed at the back of his head. The reports are saying that your redhead was there and she was arrested, too. I know you're not with them—at least I don't think you are—but I really need you to call me back or something. Please." She hates herself a little for how obviously she's begging by the end of the message, but she can't help herself. Her gut-ESP-discernment-whatever is screaming that something has gone horribly wrong, and she's utterly powerless in doing something about it.


	8. Chapter 8

**NOTES: **This is where I veer off the tracks a bit. Still working with the same basic storyline, but changing events slightly. Maybe this will go back to being a strictly post-ep/missing scene story, maybe not. Depends on what my characters tell me.

Thanks to **the_wordbutler** for cleaning up my words and pushing me off the beaten path.

Warning for kidnapping, threats of violence, and actual attacks.

* * *

The knock comes as she doing dishes from her dinner, which wisely consisted of ice cream and wine. What else are you supposed to consume when your boyfriend is now, at least according to some news networks, part of a terrorist organization?

Her eyes dart to her purse, but she leaves her gun inside the bag. Anna pulls her door open to reveal Grant standing on the other side of it. He looks a little worse for wear, but any member of the team is a welcome sight to her. "What are you doing here?" Anna asks. "Did they let you go for shooting the Clairvoyant?"

"Yeah," he answers quickly, "turns out it wasn't really him. Have you talked to Coulson?"

"No, have you?"

He nods as he steps into her apartment and closes the door behind him. "He wants me to take you to him. He's not sure it's safe for you here."

The words mostly ring true to her, but there's a niggling feeling in the pit of her stomach that makes the hairs on her neck stand on end. Or perhaps her red flag starts waving because she realizes that Grant has yet to say the safe word to let her know Phil really thinks it's safe for her to travel with the agent in her apartment.

You make up some weird rules when you're in a relationship with someone who works in the intelligence community, okay?

"Sure, just let me grab my bag," Anna says. And either he hears a waver in her voice or she can't be as calm as she would like at the moment, because as soon as she turns, there's a gun muzzle pressed to her lower back.

"I need you to come with me."

Anna hears the immediate change in his voice, like he's dropped some act and revealing his true self. Taking a deep breath, she mentally reviews some of the hand-to-hand tactics David taught her long ago and figures what the hell. She quickly spins and catches the wrist of his gun hand in the crook of her left arm while her right elbow arcs up to nail him in the jaw. Her surprise attack only affords her two seconds to try and grab the gun from his hand before he shoves her away. She runs for her bag, but his hand grips her arm and yanks her toward him. Anna tries to twist out of his grip, but the last thing she sees is the butt of his gun flying toward her head before everything goes dark.

When she wakes, she's in handcuffs that are chained to the metal table she's sitting at. Her head throbs, and her first thought is wondering how she's going to call in sick. She also desperately wishes she'd eaten something more substantial for dinner because her stomach won't stop churning.

"So Sleeping Beauty is awake."

The voice is a man's but not one she recognizes. Anna barely manages not to groan as she lifts her head to look at him. He has short brown hair and wears a black turtleneck. "Who are you?"

He smiles at her, and it just makes her stomach feel worse. "My name's John, but you've probably heard me called by my other title—The Clairvoyant."

That instantly makes the muscles in her back tighten in fear. "What do you want?"

"Nothing you have," he chuckles. "But it's something your boyfriend has, so we're using you as bait." He looked her over and shook his head. "I know Phil could trend toward dumb when it comes to being all good and sweet, but getting this serious with a civilian is a new low."

Anna wishes she'd learn how to spit in someone's face, but sadly, she'd never picked up the trick. "He won't give you whatever it is looking for."

"Oh, I think he will," John answers as he sits in the chair opposite her. "Especially since we've already sent him pictures of your bloodied face. And he definitely will when I start leaving calls every hour on the hour so he can hear you scream as I break each of your fingers." He lightly runs his hands over her fingers, and she has to swallow bile. "He says you're an incredibly talented musician. I sincerely hope you have a backup plan for your career."

"Where's Grant?" she asks.

"He had to run back to Coulson; need to make sure he keeps his good graces with the team, even though they don't have a clue who he's really working for."

"I'll tell him," Anna says. "When you call Phil so he can listen to me scream? That's what will be coming out of my mouth. I'll tell him about Grant, and I'll tell him not to come for me, that I'm not worth it." She's slightly afraid when she realizes how much truth is in that statement. But it shouldn't be too surprising since she was raised by a father in the Army, married a soldier, and has been in a relationship with a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent for the better part of the last few years. She knows one life isn't worth the security of millions.

"Sweetheart, it's cute that you think we don't have gags." He stands a pulls a rag out of his pants pocket and quickly sticks it between her teeth before knotting it behind her head. She feels her pulse race and her adrenaline spike, so she does her best to breathe calmly through her nose. "And," John continues, "just in case you two have worked out some secret code—can't be too careful with someone who likes to bed spies, trust me on that one—we need to make sure you're not too coherent when I do call good ol' Phil." He pulls a syringe from the cabinet behind her and makes sure to show it off to her before pulling the plastic cap off the needle. "At the very least, you'll be in a haze when I start breaking bones in your hand."


End file.
